While they have been eating
The rain has started falling,
Gradually gathering in strength
What began a drizzle
Has now become torrential,
And doesn't look like coming to an end
The two bedraggled figures
That huddle in the doorway
With nothing vaguely waterproof to wear
Are now secretly wishing
They'd listened to their mothers
When being told to always be prepared
Screaming
"Geronimo!",
They run for it, down the road
With an arm around her waist,
He leads her to a place
He knows
Soaked through, but happy,
They squelch up to the landing;
The room before them
Makes a welcome sight
The coal fire is throwing
Strange shapes upon the hearth rug,
And crying out to be knelt down beside
She pulls off her jumper
And flings it in the corner;
He picks it up and hangs it on a chair
She puts on a record
And sings into her coffee
He puts a blanket round her, sits her down
And dries her beautiful hair